Getting Around
by Cursed Blessings
Summary: To get around -vb, slang- : To be promiscuous, to have careless sex with many partners. Similar to 'sleeping around'. -See also 'sluttiness' pg. 31- .
1. Prologue

**A/N**: I usually don't do author's notes at the beginning of a chapter, much less a _story_, but this one demanded it. This is one that's pretty much my commentary on the sexualization of Death Note, and by that measure needs a lot of warnings. It covers many pairings, will probably turn out incredibly kinky, and will include a fair bit of shota (although that won't be the main focus). I update as frequently as I can, but I would recommend watching if you're going to read, I can be unpredictable sometimes.

I hope you all enjoy it! (after all, pervertedness is what most of you probably came here for...)

Ja, mata

-Cursed-Blessings

* * *

_The skyline, barely visible over the trees of the courtyard, showed the last edge of a rainbow sunset. Matt admired the swirls of smoke fiercely cutting through the silhouettes as he forced out a long, sharp breath. _

_Suddenly a crush of fingers hit the back of his head, causing him to choke on a burnt-down cigarette. He rolled over, trying to expel it from his throat, littering the deep green grass with lewd globules of ash._

"_Jesus, Matt!" Above him was Mello. "'The hell do you want your dying thought to be, _at least I had that one last fag_?" _

"_Mine'll be better than yours," Matt retorted as he struggled to get the last bit free from his throat, "_at least I really got around_. You fricking bender."_

* * *

The glass radiated cold onto his arm, causing goosebumps to crawl and spread like ivy over brick.

L withdrew from the window; let its maroon curtain fall back into place, watching the limb with unconvincing interest. It was his manner of removing himself from the scene taking place outside.

He backtracked to his desk. The files there would certainly be of some importance. At the very least, they would be of more importance than a pair of ten year-olds roughhousing in the courtyard…large, bulbous black eyes began to dart nervously over a set of manila folders. He could open any one of them; begin to solve any of the cases he had recently been procrastinating with.

The folders lay untouched as L slowly crossed the room, feet transitioning from velvety oriental rug to an unforgiving bare floor. Something was drawing him back towards the window.

It wasn't curiosity.

No, to the contrary, it was a need to confirm the knowledge that made him uneasy.

He knew exactly what happened when the children of Wammy's sneaked out during the night. He was aware of what shameful activities took place amidst the trees.


	2. Two

**A/N**: Sorry for the sporadic uploading/non-uploading. This is why I stress watching the story, I'm not a watch/review whore...it's just I often go months and months and then bam, motivation. XD

P.S: Swallow L's persona whole...that's not innuendo AT ALL.

-Cursed-Blessings

* * *

The mirror made things foggier than they should have been. Large cracks revealed the gluey tan backing, and black flecks covered the better half of the remaining surface. Mello tried to shift, place himself into its small zone of clarity, and realized that this was a metaphor. It was L, L back from the dead, telling him to think like the product of the orphanage that he was.  
Yes, the mirror, its crappy state and clouded visage, surely symbolized Mello's tendency to failure. Here he was, L's former-future-successor, a grave disappointment to his childhood ambitions. As a boy, eight or nine, maybe ten, he had envisioned himself, in a Rolls-Royce with the ever living Watari at his side. What he had gotten was a bike and bullet dents. He had imagined fame, money enough to form giant cartoon piles, and had exactly eight fifty in his pocket, none in the bank. The worst comparison, however, related to the man on his mind. He had always wanted to live up to L's name, to embody it. The past years had given him a more realistic picture of the successors: they were only made to swallow L's persona whole, then waste their lives trying to somehow make it their own. They crushed and consumed everything that he was.  
But this couldn't be some reminder from L. L wouldn't have bothered telling him this, not directly. He would have left it for Mello to figure out on his own, the fact that his plans for tomorrow would probably be the end of his life. Besides, the mirror wasn't _completely _unusable. He was proving this at the very moment, having stepped forward just close enough, leant his head to the side at just the right angle...yes, Mello came through the fog, he always could.  
A face eclipsed the stained background as he examined. Tonight was the critical night, or rather...tomorrow was the critical day. The kidnapping of Takada. If he died tomorrow, which Mello couldn't ignore or count out as a possibility, he wanted an image to remember himself by. He leaned back, looking at his outfit in particular...he was wearing his motorcycle jacket, his least worn pair of leather pants...why had he even put all this on? He still had twelve hours. Wait, fuck changing, he could sleep in it. And at that thought, fuck sleeping, it wasn't like he'd be able to anyway.  
Mello stepped out of the bedroom, looking forward into the jungle of wires doubtlessly surrounding his b-side. Fuck...fucking.  
"Matt."  
A mess of hair rose from the chaos and its owner soon followed.  
"Mm?"  
Obviously Matt was expecting some sort of response, but that was really all he had had to say. He walked over to the zebra-patterned couch and silently sat. Knowing that if he fell _he_ was going down with him was almost unnerving. "Um, Mello, if you were going to ask me what I'm doing with all this equipment, it's very important..." Matt had a quiet voice. It wasn't annoying, it wasn't loud, it constantly failed to piss him off. At that a thought finally occurred to him. A response.  
"No, I was going to tell you to take a goddamn shower." The implication was there, if the reaper was hanging overhead, he didn't like the idea of one of them having to die after a month sans bathing. There was a pause and Mello assumed it was understanding. He was soon proved wrong.  
"Mkay." Matt rose and kicked at the cords a bit, stepping over the large mass and audibly cracking his spine. "I'm not really for all that soapy on-the-floor screwing shit you picked up from studying Japan but I can go for-"  
"It wasn't an invitation, it was telling you to_ clean up now because no one's going to do it for you once you're dead_." If Matt needed blunt words, he could always get them.


End file.
